


To Have and To Hold

by fallingintodivinity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Domesticity, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Season/Series 14, Season/Series 14 Spoilers, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-23 19:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17689562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallingintodivinity/pseuds/fallingintodivinity
Summary: It’s while standing in the middle of the vegetable aisle at a Wal-Mart, a slightly wilted head of lettuce in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other, that Dean Winchester realizes he’s married.





	To Have and To Hold

 

“We’re out of milk _again_ , Sam!” Dean yells, stomping out of the bunker’s kitchen and into the war room, where Sam’s got his nose in a huge, dusty book and is busily jotting down notes on a messy sheaf of paper, occasionally tapping his pen thoughtfully against his lower lip. Startled out of his research, Sam blinks up at Dean owlishly, putting his pen down.

“It wasn’t me!” he protests, at the same time that Jack, who’s sitting a little further down the table watching Sam do his research, jerks his head up guiltily from where he’s been spooning cereal and milk into his mouth.

“Sorry, Dean,” he says in a small voice, hanging his head shamefacedly, which immediately makes _Dean_ feel bad.

Yelling at Sam is one thing; Sam knows when Dean’s yelling and when he’s _yelling_ , but Jack – Jack still takes everything Dean (and Sam) says as serious, honest-to-god gospel truth. Oh, he’ll grow out of it soon enough, but in the meantime, Dean’s just going to enjoy the way Jack looks up to him and Sam, the way he tries so painfully earnestly to emulate everything they do.

(…well, except for that one time Jack called him ‘ _old man’_ on a case, and oh _boy_ , is the kid going to get an ass-kicking for _that_ when the time’s right.)

 _Anyway._ It’s still not been all that long since Jack got sick, and then _died_ , so as far as Dean’s concerned, the situation calls for some leniency. He crosses the room to ruffle Jack’s hair.

“’S fine, kiddo,” he says. “I’m gonna go buy more. You wanna come?”

Jack scrambles to his feet so quickly that he almost knocks his mostly-empty bowl right off the table. Sam leans over to rescue it with one huge hand and puts the bowl safely back on the table, then glances from Jack to Dean and ducks his head, huffing out a soft, amused breath.

Sam presses a fist to his mouth to hide his smile, which Dean totally sees anyway because his little brother may be beautiful and brilliant but he is not in the least sneaky – or at least, not to _Dean_ , whose mental catalog of Sam-expressions probably takes up as much space in his brain as all of his other thoughts combined.

Dean claps Jack on the shoulder. “Go wait in the car,” he says, then reaches over to smack the back of Sam’s head.

“Ow!” says Sam indignantly.

“You’re coming too, genius,” Dean tells him.

“’Course I am,” Sam agrees, grinning up at him openly soft and fond, the particular warm, sweet smile he seems to reserve just for Dean. Dean clears his throat and is suddenly glad that he’s sent Jack out to the car because he swears he can feel his face growing hot, although he can’t for the life of him figure out why.

 

***

 

Dean glances furtively around him, hunkers down to make himself as unobtrusive as possible, then hurriedly ducks into the cereal aisle at Wal-Mart.

He silently creeps halfway down the aisle until he finds the sugary chocolate cereal that’s Jack’s favorite on the lowest shelf. Putting his grocery basket down, he kneels down to grab a box from the half-empty shelf, sneaking a quick look around again to make sure Sam isn’t anywhere in sight: Sam _hates_ this stuff – something about the sugar content or whatever – and he’s constantly bemoaning the fact that Jack’s eating habits are more like Dean’s than like his.

Damn straight; at least _someone_ else in this household appreciates the glory of thick-cut maple-glazed bacon the way it should be appreciated. To be fair, Dean knows his brother loves his cooking – Sam’s always so happy when he cooks, always wolfs down everything Dean makes for him, even when it’s a recipe Dean’s just been experimenting with and hasn’t yet perfected.

It makes Dean happy, too – keeping Sammy and Jack well fed, making sure they’re well taken care of. And if he throws in a plate of roasted vegetables or a small side salad, Sam always looks so damned _elated_ that Dean’s actually started sneaking bits of rabbit food into his cooking just because…because. Sam and his fucking _dimples_. God damn it.

Dean starts, jolted out of his preoccupation with Sam’s dimples when the box of cereal he’s holding is neatly taken right out of his hands. He looks up quickly, expecting to see his brother, but – no. His gaze travels lower, lower still, until he’s looking straight at a small child – right at eye-level, since Dean’s still crouching on the floor – who’s holding on tightly to Dean’s cereal with both chubby little hands.

He stares at the little boy, who stares unblinkingly back.

“Man, you and Jack’ll get on like a house on fire,” Dean tells the child with a grin, then turns to grab a new box of cereal just as a woman – presumably the boy’s mother – hurries up to them.

“Benji,” she admonishes, crouching so that she’s at eye-level with the little boy. “We don’t just take things from people like that. C’mon, give that back and we’ll get another one, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she says sheepishly to Dean. “He’s crazy about this brand.”

Dean laughs. “It’s fine,” he assures the woman, holding up the fresh box he’d taken from the shelf. “Jack goes through a box of this shi– uh, _stuff,_ ” he corrects himself, shooting a glance at Benji, who’s staring at the shelves in fascination, “in, like, three days. Sammy hates it, says it’s really bad for him.”

Benji’s mother laughs, nodding. Benji, meanwhile, drops the box of cereal he’d taken from Dean and exuberantly starts pulling boxes of cereal off the lowest shelf instead. His mother sighs.

“Sammi?” she says distractedly, expertly shoving cereal boxes back into the shelf as quickly as her child pulls them out. “That’s your wife?”

“What?” says Dean. “Uh – ” and he’s about to correct her when he hears “Dean?” from around the corner; then Sam’s striding down the aisle toward him, triumphantly clutching a bottle of salad dressing in one hand. ‘Fat-free’, proclaims the label in big block letters, as if that _doesn’t_ mean ‘tastes like cardboard’. Dean makes a face and hopes Sam doesn’t plan on making him eat that crap.

Sam frowns when he sees the cereal box in Dean’s hand.

“Dean,” he says.

Dean sighs, looking over at his half-full grocery basket sadly. He’d planned to bury the cereal under the bacon and milk before Sam found him, but clearly today is just not his day.

“Sam,” he replies. He gets to his feet, clutching the cereal protectively to his chest. “I’ll make you vegetable lasagna Friday?” he tries hopefully.

Sam stares sternly at him for a couple of seconds longer, but because Dean is awesome his baby brother obviously can’t stay mad at him for long. Sam’s frown melts into a wry huff of a laugh.

“You spoil him,” he says, shaking his head, then slants a hopeful look at Dean. “Fine, veggie lasagna Friday _and_ salad for the next week, and Jack gets his cereal.”

“A whole _week?_ ” Dean says, pained. “Sammy, c’mon.” He strikes a pose. “Look at this body, it doesn’t need rabbit food.”

Sam _does_ look, a long, appreciative look down and then back up Dean’s entire body that makes Dean feel weird, exposed, his skin prickling and mouth going dry. Behind Sam, Benji’s mother bends down to pick her son up, tucking him into her arms and Dean focuses on her instead because it feels a little dangerous to look at Sam right now.

“I mean, I’m not complaining about the view,” Sam says archly. “I still want that salad, though.”

Dean chews on his lower lip nervously, not sure why he’s feeling so jittery. Sam’s gaze zeros in on Dean’s mouth, and he draws in a short, sharp breath.

“I’ll, uh. I. Three days of salads,” Dean says, and clears his throat noisily.

“ _Two_ weeks,” says Sam, and licks his lips. He’s still staring at Dean, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says distractedly, then belatedly realizes what he’s agreed to. “Dammit, Sam, that’s not fair!”

Sam blinks a couple of times, then beams at Dean happily, all shiny white teeth and dimples and unrestrained joy over his little victory, and Dean’s heart is thumping so fast and loud that the whole of Wal-Mart can probably hear it. Behind Sam, Benji’s mother is giggling, one hand over her mouth.

“Ugh, fine,” Dean grumbles. “I’ll go get you your rabbit food, bitch.” He grabs his grocery basket and slinks away with as much dignity as he can muster.

 

***

 

Dean tosses the cereal into his grocery basket, wanders through the beer aisle and is standing in the middle of the vegetable aisle holding an only slightly wilted head of lettuce for Sam in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other, grocery basket on the floor beside him, when it hits him: _he’s married to Sam._

He stops dead and thinks about it a little more.

He loves Sam, obviously. Honestly, given everything they’ve done for each other over the years they’ve been together, _love_ hardly seems adequate to describe this thing between them. He _needs_ Sam, craves him in a way that runs deeper than blood and more essential than breathing.

They’ve been living together for years – even now, in the bunker, when they actually have the option of separate rooms, they’re in each other’s rooms more often than not. Even _thinking_ about being apart from Sam for more than a day makes him feel a little anxious, and Sam’s made it abundantly clear that he feels exactly the same way.

Hell, they’re _raising a child_ together. (Dean spares a moment to think of Jack with affectionate gratitude, because he couldn’t have asked for a better kid.)

Can he see himself growing old with Sam? Until recently, Dean hadn’t really thought about the possibility that he’d live to see old age. And those long weeks with Michael in his head, he’d really – he’d really thought that was it, for him.

But Sam seems hell-bent on keeping them both alive, had pulled Dean back from the brink with Michael by sheer stubbornness, and Dean – Dean’s damn well going to try his best, for Sammy. He can’t think of a better ending for them: making it through everything, _every single damn thing_ Heaven and Hell can throw at them, and emerge on the other side – not unscathed, not by a long shot – weary and bloody and bruised, but alive, and _together_.

So.

So…he’s married to Sam. Platonically.

“What the _fuck,_ ” he says to the lettuce, and drops it into the basket with the rest of his groceries.

This is kind of a doozy of a revelation. It’s not often that a man finds out he’s been married for years _without knowing about it_. His knees feel a little wobbly.

Dean sits down on the floor and takes a few deep breaths.

 

***

 

“Why are you sitting in the middle of the vegetable section?” Jack asks, when he and Sam find Dean ten minutes later. His eyes light up at the sight of the cereal in Dean’s basket.

Dean eyes Jack’s beaming face and shoots a smug look at Sam, who just smiles back at him cheerfully. He doesn’t seem at all bothered to find his big brother sitting on the floor of a Wal-Mart right in between the lettuces and the parsnips.

As Dean gets to his feet, Sam tosses a packet of ground beef to him.

“Here, got this for you,” he says. “Thought maybe we could grill tonight.”

“Oh my god,” Dean says gleefully, turning the packet around in his hands and already heading over to the next aisle to get a bag of burger buns. “Burgers tonight!” He tosses a couple of onions into his basket. “I could kiss you, Sammy,” he adds happily, and then realizes that he _means it_.

He wants to kiss Sam.

He wants to kiss Sam and touch Sam and do other decidedly unbrotherly things to Sam.

He doesn’t want a platonic marriage with Sam, he wants an _actual_ marriage with Sam.

“Oh my god,” says Dean again, and drops the burger buns on the floor.

“Dude, chill,” Sam says, bending over to pick the plastic bag of buns up and giving Dean a great view of his ass in the process. “You’d think you’ve never eaten a burger before.”

“All burgers are precious to me, man,” Dean shoots back automatically, quickly looking away from his little brother’s ass and back at their groceries as Sam straightens up. He examines the label on the packet of ground beef Sam’d picked up to distract himself from the sudden and – _totally not new,_ now that Dean’s actually thinking about it – urge to kiss his baby brother.

“Hey,” he says, as he reads the label. “You got me the good stuff! Twenty percent fat! Not the fifteen percent crap you’re always trying to buy.” He beams. “Wow, Sam, you must really love me, huh?”

There’s a brief silence as Sam contemplates him.

“Yeah,” Sam says. “I do, jerk,” and he’s _blushing_. Jack looks from Sam to Dean curiously, a little quizzical frown on his face, and Dean can’t think of a single damned thing to say.

_God._

 

***

 

Dean thinks about kissing Sam in the car all the way home and while putting the groceries away and while taking a shower before dinner. He thinks about it during the ten-minute drive to the park near the bunker and also when he’s grilling the burgers. He even thinks about it while _eating_ his burger, because while he does love burgers, he doesn’t love burgers _as much as he loves Sam_.

Sam and Jack keep shooting him these puzzled little looks over dinner, so they’ve definitely noticed that he’s preoccupied with something, but neither of them ask any questions, which is good because it means they’re not worried that something bad is going down.

And this – this is big, yeah, but it feels…inevitable, somehow. It feels _right_.

It’s Sam’s turn to do the dishes today, so once they're back home, Dean sits down at the kitchen table while Sam’s at the sink washing a stack of plates and cutlery, taking gulps of his beer and sneaking glances at his brother’s broad back. He can’t for the life of him think of a way of broaching the subject that isn’t _completely_ awkward, so – _ah, fuck it,_ Dean decides.

He finishes his beer, then stands up and goes over to the sink, where Sam’s still busy scrubbing the plates, sleeves of his flannel rolled up to his elbows. Dean leans in and rests his hands on the counter on either side of Sam, bracketing his little brother’s body with his.

Sam’s entire body stiffens, then he turns in the circle of Dean’s arms, suds up to his elbows and mouth soft, lips parted in surprise. Dean freezes, cold grip of uncertainty squeezing his heart like a vice; but then Sam's whole expression softens and he smiles, warm and bright.

“Dean…?” he says tentatively, and his baby brother sounds so hopeful that before he can even think the whole thing through, Dean's surging forward to capture Sam’s lips with his own. Sam sighs into his mouth, giddy and blissful, and Dean brings both hands up to cup Sam’s jaw, kissing him deep and sweet until they’re both out of breath.

When they part, Sam's laughing against his lips, wild and joyful and Dean can't help his own wide smile as Sam tips his head forward, pressing their foreheads together.

“What took you so long?” he whispers.

“You’re the smart one, Sammy,” Dean tells him, grinning, and whatever Sam was going to say in reply is lost as Dean kisses him again, can’t get enough of his little brother’s smiling lips.

Sam clutches at him with hands still wet and sudsy and kisses him again, hot and demanding, soap suds going everywhere. “Christ, Dean,” he pants between kisses, “waited for you for so long, wanted this for _ages_ – ”

Dean grunts as he’s backed up against the kitchen table, he and Sam both frantically pulling each other’s clothes off, tossing their shirts and T-shirts aside, shoving down jeans to pool around their ankles and impatiently kicking them off. They’re both down to just boxer briefs when Sam bends, grabs Dean around the waist and _lifts_ , and – god. _God_. Dean’s no lightweight but Sam lifts him up easy as pie, huge hands firm and broad and warm on his bare skin, and it’s _hot as hell_ , Sam’s effortless strength as he sits Dean on the kitchen table with his legs dangling over the side, naked except for his underwear and the surface of the table cold and smooth under his ass.

“Jesus, Sam,” he says, gasping hard and breathless with arousal, then realizes, _fuck_ – they may have the bunker more or less to themselves this weekend, everyone else out for various reasons, but _Jack’s_ still around and he could walk in at any moment. Dean tries to articulate as much to Sam, but it’s _really difficult_ when his little brother’s easing Dean’s aching cock out of his boxer briefs, wrapping one callused palm around it, and shit, it’s really not fair to expect him to be the responsible one when Sam’s sucking a line of hickeys into Dean’s neck and doing things with his hand that are making Dean’s brain melt right out of his ears.

“Sam,” he manages, “we can’t – here – the kid – ” he trails off into a heartfelt groan as Sam nips at his neck, tipping his head back to give his brother more room to work.

“Jack’s in his room,” Sam mumbles against Dean’s neck. “He borrowed my laptop to watch a movie, so he’ll be busy for the next two hours or so.” He takes Dean’s cock in a firm grasp and strokes.

“Oh,” Dean says, gasping. “Well, in that case.”

He wriggles out of his boxer briefs, hissing at the chill of the table surface against as his bare ass as he kicks his underwear off, but then Sam spreads both hands over Dean’s thighs and ducks his head, closing his lips over Dean’s cock and Dean makes a strangled sound, tangling his hands in his brother’s hair.

Sam sucks him hot and wet until Dean’s got his head thrown back and fingers curled tightly in the long silky strands of Sam’s hair, moaning his baby brother’s name, and it’s fucking _incredible_ but – but he can barely touch Sam like this, damn it. He tugs at Sam insistently until Sam makes a protesting moan, dragging his mouth reluctantly off Dean’s cock, lips red and parted and wet. His cock is tenting his boxer briefs obscenely, and there’s a little damp spot on the dark blue fabric that makes Dean’s mouth water.

Dean slides off the table and shoves Sam’s underwear down over his hips.

“God, Sammy,” he mutters, “look at you, baby, so fuckin’ hot, need to taste you – ”

“ _Dean,_ ” Sam groans, voice gone hoarse and shaky with want. He kisses Dean deeply then wrestles him to the floor, arranging them so that they’re curled up around each other with Sam’s head at Dean’s groin and Sam’s cock against Dean’s lips.

“ _Fuck,_ ” says Dean with great feeling. Sam’s got a gorgeous cock, huge like the rest of him, hard and thick and flushed. Dean wastes no time in taking his brother into his mouth, wrapping his lips around Sam and sucking him messy and wet, just the way he likes it when he’s on the receiving end of a blowjob. Sam moans Dean’s name and gets Dean’s cock back in his mouth, giant hands curled over Dean’s hips, and it’s so mind-blowingly _good_ that Dean lets himself get lost in it, the taste of Sam on his tongue and his cock enveloped in the tight heat of Sam’s mouth.

He’s not going to last; been wanting this for too, too long and the taste and smell and feel of _Sammy_ is lighting up every single pleasure center in his brain. He’s teetering right at the edge of a precipice, and it’s too much, too much –

“Sam,” he gasps, muffled around Sam’s cock right before he comes dizzyingly hard down his brother’s throat, hands clenching tight where he’s gripping Sam’s hips.

“God,” Sam moans. “ _Dean,_ ” he almost sobs, whole body tensing, and then he’s filling Dean’s mouth with his come, hot and bitter, leaking out the side of Dean’s mouth when he can’t swallow it fast enough.

A few silent minutes pass with only the sound of both their unsteady breaths filling the kitchen, before Sam scrambles around so that he’s lying on his side next to Dean, heads turned toward each other and noses bumping.

“We okay?” he asks, nudging Dean’s nose gently with his.

“Nah, Sammy,” Dean says, brushing a gentle kiss against Sam’s lips. “We’re _great._ ”

 

***

 

Jack strolls into the kitchen just as they finish putting their clothes back on. Sam and Dean both freeze guiltily, Sam in the act of buttoning his jeans, and Dean with only one sock on.

Jack looks from Sam to Dean, a confused little frown on his face, before his expression clears. “Oh!” he says.

Dean eyes him warily.

“If you are doing the sex,” Jack says brightly, “I would like to request a little brother, please.” He pauses to consider. “Or a little sister. That would be nice too.” He beams at them, then wanders back out of the kitchen.

Dean blinks. There’s a long, drawn-out silence.

Sam starts to laugh, giggling so hard that he’s almost doubled over. “Guess it’s past time we gave him the _Talk,_ ” he wheezes.

Dean groans and thumps his head on the counter. “How the fuck is this my life,” he grumbles.

(He’s pretty sure Sam knows that he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

 

End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be T-rated but it seems I porned again. Oops.


End file.
